


Catching Up

by stew (julie)



Category: Indiana Jones Series
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, M/M, Right Love Wrong Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1993-09-05
Updated: 1993-09-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22678366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/stew
Summary: Perhaps it was inevitable that Marcus Brody fall in love with Indy, but of course there’s nothing he can do about it. Eleven years later, it feels just as inevitable when Marion Ravenwood falls in love with Indy, too – but Indy’s not ready to take on any real responsibility for her. Eventually, after many adventures and much mileage, this tangle of mistimed loves works into something that everyone can live with.
Relationships: Henry "Indiana" Jones/Marion Ravenwood, Marcus Brody/Henry "Indiana" Jones
Kudos: 4





	Catching Up

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** This was specifically inspired by the films _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ (1981) and _Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade_ (1989).
> 
> **Warnings:** In the first part, Indy is underage at fifteen. His relationship with Marcus goes no further than a kiss. In the second part, Marion is underage at fifteen. She has a sexual relationship with Indy that she’s happy about, but of course it’s statutory rape. Please don’t read this if it’s going to trouble you! 
> 
> **First published:** in my zine Homosapien #3 on 5 September 1993.

# Catching Up 

♦

## UTAH 1915 

‘I hate him, I _hate_ him!’ Indy burst into the room, startling Marcus Brody out of the heaven that Mozart always sent him to. The boy was continuing, ‘How _dare_ he? He treats me like dirt!’ 

Marcus didn’t pretend not to know to whom Indiana referred. ‘It’s just his way,’ he said, not daring to move from his comfortable old sofa, though he did swing his legs to the floor. ‘Your father loves you dearly.’ 

‘That’s a lie he’s told you, Marcus. I’m not putting up with his garbage anymore.’ And the youth lifted a bottle of spirits and took a long swig before resuming his pacing. 

‘What have you got there?’ Marcus cried out in dismay. 

‘Whisky, Marcus.’ 

‘Indy!’ The man watched the boy stalk up and down, saw with some bemusement the fury in Indy’s eyes. 

‘He has no right to do this to a human being. He treats the dog better than me! And I don’t give a damn for his reasons, so don’t go explaining it all away.’ 

There was something different in Indy’s manner tonight. The usual rage at his father had, this time, given birth to something new, something less ineffectual than mere self-pity. Despite sensing this, Marcus fell into his usual role of mediator and apologist. ‘Henry’s your father, Indy,’ he reasoned: ‘he wants the best for you. He wants it _all_ for you, don’t you see?’ 

‘Then tell me why he doesn’t want Beth Parrish for me, Marcus!’ The boy’s eyes glittered at him, challenging and righteous and bitter. 

‘What happened?’ Marcus asked in trepidation, beginning to wonder if this particular explosion was beyond him to contain. 

‘I was _this_ close –’ Indy held out thumb and forefinger barely a grain of sand apart – ‘to kissing her. And _he_ walks in. And in front of Beth, for God’s sake…’ 

‘Indy…’ Marcus reproved the blasphemy more by habit than any deep religious belief. 

‘I hate him, Marcus. I’ve put up with enough, this is the last straw.’ 

Marcus sank down further into the sofa. He had witnessed Henry Jones humiliating his son before, with his sharp tongue and cruel impatience, in front of all sorts of people. But to break up the boy’s first kiss was going too far. The boy – Looking at him, Marcus could now see the man in him. The room wasn’t big enough for Indy’s rage: it barely held him physically; while emotionally, the roof and walls had already been blown to Kingdom Come. The potential of Indiana Jones was abruptly overwhelming. 

Which was in direct contrast to the previous long and tiresome three years, since the twelve-year-old Indy had recovered the ancient Cross of Coronado by accident on a scout trip, and been chased across the desert by four thugs who wanted it back, before losing it to them in his own home with the connivance of the local sheriff. Henry, in one of his more perverse jokes, chose to believe that Indiana, known to all for his vivid imagination, was making up the whole thing, and the boy had spent the years since in sulking fits and impotent tantrums. 

But despite the outburst of temper, Indy seemed to have at last taken the first step away from being merely a thwarted child. Instead of sulking, he was coming to an understanding of the myriad problems, working them through, vocalizing them.

As he watched Indiana down another mouthful from the bottle, Marcus returned to practicalities. ‘Where did you get the whisky, Indiana?’ 

‘I took it from his study when he left to _escort_ Beth home. Marcus, I don’t ever want to see him again.’ 

Indy took another long swallow of the spirits. And suddenly it was all too much for him. Luckily close by Marcus, he started to sink to the floor. 

‘My dear boy…’ Marcus reached for him – just in time, though he was slow because he had never been a physical creature – then he drew Indy to sit next to him on the sofa. ‘That’s no good for you, you know.’ But Indy defiantly kept drinking the whisky down. ‘The bottle wasn’t full when you started, was it?’ 

‘Almost.’ 

‘I’m afraid you are going to be incredibly sick tomorrow.’ 

‘Sick at heart.’ 

As Indy’s anger began to dwindle to despair, Marcus gathered him up and held him close. The boy wormed further into his embrace, and Marcus let his own restraint melt in Indy’s warmth. All the old complexity of shameful secrets hardly mattered now, in the face of this simple and profound and innocent comfort they could share. Marcus took the bottle from Indy’s unresisting fingers, and took a long swig himself before setting it aside. 

Without moving, Marcus became supremely aware of Indy’s body, in unexpected but blessed proximity to his, through all five of his senses. The boy’s chest and shoulders had filled out, the legs were no longer coltishly out of proportion, the face was lean and defiant. Character and individuality were more in evidence than ever before. How could Marcus not have noticed all this before tonight? 

The youthful but masculine beauty in his arms shifted a little closer. And the boy mumbled into Marcus’s shoulder, ‘I wish _you_ were my father instead.’ 

‘Oh, Indy,’ Marcus admonished, at once touched and hurt. 

‘ _He_ would never hold me like this.’ 

‘No, he wouldn’t,’ the older man agreed with gentle irony. 

‘I love you, Marcus.’ 

‘Dear Lord save me, I love you, too,’ Marcus whispered soundlessly. But the boy had passed out in his arms, fallen into a shallow sleep, afloat on a sea of whisky. Marcus eased him away a little, enough to look at him, inelegantly sprawled and trustingly unaware. Perhaps it was inevitable that this happen, perhaps the emotion had been in Marcus all the years since he’d first held Henry and Eve’s baby son, waiting for this moment when Indiana became a man who could be loved. ‘Dear Lord…’ 

‘Marcus…’ the boy murmured as if in response, and the man drew him close again. 

Too close – Indy’s young sex pressed hard against Marcus’s thigh. At the sudden stimulation, Indy’s arms tightened around his friend. 

‘Dear Lord, Henry,’ Marcus groaned; ‘save me, save _him_.’ It was too unfair, after the long years of denial, to be tempted by the one creature dearer to him than any other. And Indy’s head fell back, the face flushed and beautiful amidst all that fair fine butterscotch hair. 

‘So close,’ Indy murmured in his sleep. His lips parted, naively sensual… 

Marcus bent his head and met Indy’s mouth with his own. The boy responded to his kiss with an innocent passion. It felt to the older man as if his flesh was being blessed by an angel. 

Until his guilt forced Marcus to break away. ‘I’m sorry, Indy,’ he whispered. 

Again, the boy said his name. ‘Marcus…’ 

‘Oh, my dear boy, don’t remember this, please forget that I did that.’ Absently, he muttered, ‘Though whether I can forget is another matter. As it should be, I suppose.’ 

Indy slipped away from him, abruptly and heavily asleep. Marcus let him fall back to lie down along the sofa, then forced himself to sit opposite in the armchair. 

After a while, his hands quieted enough to telephone Henry. ‘He’s safe,’ Marcus announced with no preamble. ‘He’s here with me.’ 

‘Then send him back home! I’ll thrash the little idiot.’ 

‘No, Henry, please.’ Marcus’s heart contracted with the thought, though he knew Henry was all bark and no bite. ‘He’s upset. Let him stay here tonight, won’t you? I’ll get him off to school tomorrow.’ 

‘He knows better than to run away from the trouble he causes, Marcus. I told him I wanted to talk to him.’ 

‘It’s no use now, Henry, don’t you see? You’re both too upset to talk this over. Wait until the evening –’ and he mentally added, _when Indy is recovered from the drink and the hangover_ … 

‘You shouldn’t indulge the boy.’ But there was the tone that indicated Henry had changed his mind – heaven forbid Henry Jones Senior should ever be persuaded, or give in to another’s point of view. ‘You tell him, Marcus, that I’ll expect him to give a full account of himself tomorrow after dinner.’ 

‘Yes, Henry. Goodnight.’ And, hearing the dial tone, Marcus hung up the phone. 

Indy lay there before him, snoring a little. _Thoroughly charming, even so_. 

Marcus carried the boy to the spare bed. When the surprisingly strong arms remained tangled around Marcus’s neck and Indy moaned in what sounded like need, it was the most difficult thing Marcus had ever done to pull away and go to his own lonely bed. But he did it.

♦

Marcus poured him another cup of coffee – black, hot, and very very strong. Indy sipped at it obediently, grimaced at the bitter taste, and forced himself to keep it down. He had no idea why people drank the stuff. And he was wondering – the few times he could follow a coherent thought to its conclusion – why people drank whisky, too. It seemed, from this morning’s perspective, to be the height of insanity. 

‘You really should eat something,’ Marcus was saying, sitting down beside Indy at the kitchen table. 

Indy groaned, rolled an eye towards his friend. His father’s friend. The poor old fellow looked forever worried at the best of times – right now, he looked like the worry had become terminal. ‘Sorry, Marcus,’ Indy muttered. ‘Didn’t mean to.’ 

‘I’m sure you’re sorry, Indiana. I told you – didn’t I tell you last night? – how sick you’d be today.’ 

Making the effort to grunt in reply, Indy managed to lift the cup again. Studied, for a moment, his hands trembling, and the foul liquid rippling from rim to rim. 

‘Don’t you remember me saying that?’ Marcus was persisting. 

Indy frowned. ‘No, don’t remember,’ he said. ‘Can’t remember much after I got here.’ 

Marcus hastily said, ‘I’m not surprised. That’s one of the unfortunate effects of the Demon Alcohol. Of which I have far too much experience.’ 

‘You mean – you’ve done this to yourself,’ Indy asked, ‘more than once?’ 

Marcus laughed; quieted again when Indy clutched at his poor head. ‘You’ll get over it,’ the older man said. ‘You’ll recover.’ 

‘I don’t know…’ But Indy swallowed the rest of the coffee and pushed himself up from the chair. ‘I’ll be late for class.’ 

‘Does it matter so much?’ 

Indy looked at his friend, trying to read him. Marcus seemed unusually on edge this morning, but with a trace of something else. Those last words might have even been wistful. ‘Yes, it matters,’ Indy said slowly, distracted by a temporary lack of balance. ‘Double history first thing. The Aztecs. My father will quiz me on it.’ 

‘Ah.’ Marcus looked away. ‘Henry. Of course.’ 

‘Of course.’ Indy nodded, then regretted the move. It would be really nice if he didn’t have to add puking to the long list of indignities he was suffering right now. 

Indy figured Marcus was simply worried at this latest mess between Indy and Henry, which Marcus would try yet again to clear up. But Indy felt that both he and his father had gone too far this time. Marcus would never patch together what little remained of the Jones family now. 

‘Don’t worry, Marcus. We always were a lost cause.’ 

The older man looked up at him, and there was something about the expression, something imploring amidst the worry. But Indy was beyond fathoming anything so subtle this morning. 

Marcus abruptly said, ‘I’ll drive you in to town, if you’re ready.’ 

♦

Indy at last knew what the phrase _splitting headache_ meant. He wished it could have been a lesson he’d learned some easier way, but he was used to difficult lessons – his father didn’t know any other method. Indy often pitied the man’s students at the university, and as often admired them for actually choosing to submit themselves to the tyrant. 

Catching his mind rambling again, he made a renewed effort to concentrate on the class. Most of it he knew already, though, through his own readings and the few books Henry set him that weren’t European, which made it doubly hard not to let his attention wander. 

Sleep, that was what he needed. He’d had a restless night in Marcus’s spare room, plagued with dreams – some almost nightmares, some just… disturbing. It must have been Beth’s doing, being close to her. The scent of her skin, that was what had surprised him. He’d never thought of people each having an individual smell before, and a smell that could be as attractive and, frankly, as stimulating as anything else about them. 

It must have been her, setting his imagination off like that to run riot through the night. Although the memory of that moment in the kitchen, as he’d slowly leant in and realized that she wasn’t moving away; the memory had lost its impact somewhere along the way. His embarrassment, and his rage at his father, were stronger. Marcus’s generosity and friendship were stronger, too, even though he’d never once had to question them. Strange, to be aware of all that. 

They had a fifteen minute break mid-morning. Indy trotted outside and to the edge of the playground, then headed off at full speed for the girl’s school, four blocks away. It was a risk, of course, but there was nothing else for it – he was curious. 

She was waiting for him by the fence, just out of sight of the teacher on duty. And she smiled, though she looked a little… pensive. Troubled. Belatedly, Indy realized he owed her this clandestine visit. 

Silence for a few moments, while Indy tried to figure what to say. ‘I’m sorry,’ was all he managed. ‘Sorry about Dad and everything.’ 

‘It’s all right. He didn’t tell my folks.’ 

‘He didn’t?’ That was unbelievably decent of him – Beth had done nothing wrong, after all. But it only meant Indy was in twice as much trouble. ‘That’s good,’ Indy said, a little weakly. 

‘But I thought… maybe we shouldn’t try to see each other for a while. Until he calms down. Just in case.’ 

‘That’s good,’ Indy repeated without thinking. ‘I mean, yes, that’s sensible,’ he amended as he saw the slight dash of hurt cross her expression. It wasn’t as if they wouldn’t be running into each other every now and then anyway. Just maybe not being alone together. Even so, there might be chances… 

He looked at her now, ran through what had happened again in his mind. He had drawn closer on the off-chance, his lips seeking hers, and he’d suddenly known that she wasn’t going to stop him. The knowledge had been a fire in his gut, a fire that would have consumed him, if his father had only graced them with a few more minutes. 

But now – now there didn’t seem to be much heat between them at all. Very strange. The fire was still there, though Beth seemed to have nothing to do with it. And if what he’d felt yesterday in the kitchen was so changeable, then what had disturbed his sleep all last night? 

‘I’d better head in, or they’ll miss me,’ Beth was saying. ‘The bell will go in a minute.’ 

‘Sure,’ Indy murmured. ‘Sure.’ And he watched her walk away, not feeling half the regret he would have expected. 

Confused, he walked slowly back to his own school, though he knew he’d be late. 

The nausea, which Marcus’s strong coffee hadn’t helped, rose again. As he passed a vacant lot, Indy gracefully retreated from the street to ungracefully throw up behind a few straggled bushes. Afterwards, once the retching and the faintness had faded, he felt surprisingly better. He trotted on to the school, headed for the toilets, and drank long and deep from the water tap. Much better. Indy began to believe that Marcus had been right after all – there was a slim chance that he would indeed recover. 

Marcus. The old man had held him last night, Indy remembered that much. Forgiven his rage and the whisky, just as he forgave everything that Indy did. Then he’d held him close, and put Indy to bed. Taken care of him. Looked at Indy this morning with a wistful, scared expression on top of the worry. 

Marcus had kissed him. 

_Good God!_

It wasn’t as if Indy had never had what he considered to be shockingly sexual dreams before. It certainly wasn’t as if the fire that Beth had fanned in him hadn’t been burning for months, years. But this time the dreams had had some particular source, some new inspiration, some forbidden knowledge. Marcus. 

Henry would be… Horrified didn’t even begin to describe it. Neither did furious. Or outraged. 

Indy smiled. He tried to regain the memories, but the whisky had blotted most of them out. There was the sensation of all of him being caught up in a needy embrace, of a knowing mouth meeting Indy’s, Marcus answering Indy’s need in a way the boy had never guessed at. Flashfire. And then a cold empty bed and dreams. 

Wasn’t that just the strangest thing? Marcus, kissing him, kissing him like he meant it. Sweet old Marcus. Maybe, maybe with the right encouragement, he’d do it again. 

And wouldn’t Doctor Henry Jones Senior just love that? Indy would bet anything in the world – even the Coronado Cross – that Henry Senior had never even considered doing this. Well, Junior was about to start his own life. And damn the consequences to hell, and his father with them. 

♦

Lunchtime. Marcus was rattled to see him, that was for sure, standing there in his study looking so worried and sad it was almost comical. ‘You’re feeling better, Indy?’ he asked. 

‘I’m fine.’ It was mostly true. Anyway, Indy had things on his mind more interesting than the last twinges of a sick stomach. 

‘Have you seen your father?’ 

‘No. Marcus –’ 

‘Why didn’t you tell me last night?’ 

‘Marcus, I always – Tell you what last night?’ 

‘That you’re moving, moving away.’ 

‘We’re not moving,’ Indy scoffed. Why was it so difficult to stay on the topic at hand? ‘I always wanted this, Marcus. I just didn’t know it.’ Now, was that a line or what? He’d spent all of his Math class thinking that one up. 

And it seemed to produce immediate results. Marcus was taking the three steps between them, wrapping his arms around Indy in a serious bear hug. ‘Henry just came over to give me the news,’ he said. 

Indy lifted his head from Marcus’s shoulder. Strange but nice, being held by the old man. Held like he meant it, like he really cared. Like he _fiercely_ cared. Next step – Indy looked up at Marcus, breathing in the leather scent of him, mouth hungry for the fire of him.

But it didn’t seem to occur to Marcus to take this opportunity. He just said, ‘It’s almost the worst news I’ve ever had.’ 

Indy sighed. ‘What damned news?’ 

New York. Henry Senior was moving the Joneses to New York State, and hadn’t even bothered telling Indy, let alone asking him. It seemed that his father had been offered a job in some God-forsaken university’s medieval literature department. 

‘That rotten bastard.’ 

‘Indy, don’t talk like that about him.’ Marcus sounded pained. 

All Marcus’s conflicting loyalties, all these demands on the old man’s sympathy. Indy realized then that the Joneses could tear Marcus Brody apart without even trying. As Indy had indeed been about to do. 

He would dearly love to kiss Marcus again, he really would. But it wasn’t fair to Marcus, to do it with the ulterior motive of ticking off his father. It would be using Marcus, and abusing his affections. And betraying something that Marcus seemed to want to keep secret. 

Indy stood a little taller, shifted his arms around Marcus’s shoulders. ‘It will be all right, Marcus. It’ll work out fine, you’ll see.’ 

‘Of course it will,’ Marcus muttered with no conviction. His arms convulsively caught Indy up even closer. 

‘You apply for a job with one of the big museums up there – they’ll jump at the chance to have you. You’re wasted down here, and you know it.’

‘Indy, you flatter me.’ But he started to sound a little more hopeful. ‘Nobody will want to employ an old man like me.’ 

‘You’re only thirty-seven, Marcus,’ Indy said impatiently. He insisted on offering an untruth: ‘That’s not so old.’ 

A laugh. ‘It probably seems ancient to you. It does to me, too, sometimes.’ 

‘Hey, it’ll all sort itself out, I promise; with a little help from the parties concerned, of course.’ 

Indy had expected that giving up something he wanted so very badly would have been the worst feeling ever, but instead he was on top of the world. So he indulged himself in one small thing – he leant in to plant the softest kiss against Marcus’s cheek. The older man looked at him in surprise, and Indy grinned cheekily. 

‘Marcus, everything is going to be just wonderful.’ 

♦

## CHICAGO 1926 

The Ravenwood house looked dark, but that was familiar: Abner would often work this late, with only the desk lamp on, and the rest of the house quiet. If you knew where to look, there was a glow behind the curtains of the window on the right. 

Indiana stood on the sidewalk beneath one of the evenly spaced trees, rolling a cigarette, a streetlight casting shadows of the leaves and branches over him. Smoking was a new habit, one that was guaranteed to get on Abner’s nerves – besides which, it looked stylish, along with the fedora and the leather jacket. The women loved Indiana Jones: he was a walking adventure compared to the local norm of musty, sexless academic tweed. Marion Ravenwood, for instance, had taken a shine to him from the first. How many nights had he waited here in the darkness for the girl to tip-toe from behind the house, to hold his hand and run down the street with him, her black hair dancing, her grin intoxicating, her wonderful eyes wide and full of humor? How often? – Indy had lost count. They would go back to his rooms, share some whisky, tumble into bed with her long limbs entangling him, laughing one moment and serious the next. There had been other women, plenty of them, and there still were, but none had Marion’s charm or enthusiasm; or her intelligence, if it came to that. 

But Marion wasn’t why he had come tonight – Abner had telephoned, told Indy to get round here immediately. Indiana, used to Ravenwood’s whims and abruptness, if not exactly resigned to them, had finished his dinner and the article he’d been reading, and wandered across the campus. He was probably in for some more ravings about the Ark of the Covenant. Abner was fixated with the damned thing, as bad as Henry Senior and his obsession with the Grail. Crazy old men. Well, Indy would never be reduced to dry, useless madness in his own dotage. Greater things were in store for Indiana Jones. 

Perhaps it was time he made an appearance. He dropped the stub of the cigarette, trod its ember into ash, began rolling another one. The things tasted foul, if the truth were known, but even that bitterness was something desirable. Perhaps Indy could see Marion when the old man had rumbled into silence, maybe take her to her narrow bed, with Abner a few rooms away deep in his dreams of the tablets bearing the Ten Commandments. _Thou shalt not_ … 

Indy lit the new cigarette, crossed the street and jogged up the steps to the Ravenwoods’ front door. As usual, he let himself in, and headed for Abner’s study. 

‘You took your damned time,’ the Professor boomed as Indy left the dark of the hall for the dim light of the study. The man’s voice was invariably pitched for the lecture hall or the archaeological dig. Abner was standing in the center of the room – usually, he’d be at the desk scribbling away, or surrounded by books and papers on the sofa.

Shrugging, Indy said, ‘I was in the middle of something.’ 

‘I can guess what,’ the man spat. 

Indy drew on the cigarette, a long lungful of smoke, then cast a glance around, uneasy at the unexpected tone. And he saw that Marcus Brody was there, standing in the corner of the room as if wanting to avoid whatever was going on. ‘Marcus?’ 

‘Hello, Indiana.’ The old man sounded worried, though that was nothing new so it gave no hint about the reason for his presence. 

‘I asked Brody here,’ Ravenwood was saying pointedly, ‘in the absence of your father.’ 

‘Sure, Dad’s in Canada. But what –’ 

‘There’s a man in Nepal who might know something about the Staff of Ra.’ 

‘Great,’ Indy offered. Wonderful. Amazing. _For that you drag me over here_ … 

‘Indy,’ Marcus said softly, ‘let Abner explain.’ 

‘But I find that my child wants to stay in America. My _fifteen_ -year-old daughter tells me to leave her behind.’ 

Indy closed his eyes. It was always going to come to this. He had a strange, sick feeling of fright… and excitement. 

‘I ask who in hell is going to take care of her, and she says, _Indiana Jones_.’ Abner’s voice turned mocking: ‘ _I’m going to marry him_.’ 

_Marry!_ Indy silently protested. This was worse than he’d expected. 

‘You have nothing to say for yourself?’ Abner demanded. 

What was there to say? 

Marcus pleaded, ‘Indy…’ but had nothing further. 

‘I take it you seduced Marion.’ 

Finally, Indy said, ‘Yes.’ No point in mentioning her eagerness, her joy – it was no real defense. 

And Abner was crying out: ‘Marion’s infatuated with you, and you took advantage. You’re twenty-six, presumably a grown man, and you’ve taken advantage of a young girl’s brainless infatuation and twisted it to suit your own purpose just because she thinks she’s in love with you. What in God’s name do you intend to do about it?’ 

Again, silence. 

‘Could you possibly have thought I’d let you get away with this? What in hell sort of father do you think I am?’ 

Indy pulled out the tobacco pouch – 

– Abner strode over and knocked it out of his hands. ‘I swore you’d never surprise me with your petty, irresponsible relationships. I swore it was none of my business, though I loved you like a son.’ 

Indy winced, bent his head so that the brim of his hat hid something of Abner’s fury. He was aware of a shift in the shadows beyond the open door. Marion was there, of course – she would hardly let her father settle everything on her behalf. 

‘Of all the enraged fathers you’ve faced in your time, I’m telling you, Indiana, I am the most betrayed, the most outraged.’ 

‘What do you want?’ Indy asked. 

‘What do you think? – tell me your intentions.’ 

Indy wondered, for a moment, what would annoy Henry Senior the most – a shotgun marriage to this young girl, or abandoning her. He took a breath, pushed the thought away and glanced at Marcus. Once, years ago, he had given up a chance with Marcus rather than hurt him. Well, there was no way he could take on responsibility for Marion and make her happy. He’d been high as a kite when he’d sacrificed Marcus – but this time, he felt selfish and sordid. Marion was going to be hurt, even if it was for the best. ‘I can’t marry her,’ Indy said at last. 

A whisper of cotton as Marion turned and crept away. 

‘I thought as much,’ Abner spat out. 

Indy appealed to the truth: ‘You can’t think that would be best for her.’ 

‘No. In fact, I’m glad she won’t be saddled with such a worthless husband. You might be what she thinks she wants, but I think you’re nothing more than a –’ 

Indy waited through the storm, willing to let the man at least have his tirade. That was fair. ‘I’m sorry,’ he eventually said, though he knew he sounded grudging. 

‘You’d better damn well say it like you mean it to Marion. How dare you put me in this position? How am I to explain to this starry-eyed girl that her Prince Charming doesn’t even have the decency to –’ 

‘She knows,’ Indy said, interrupting him. Abner was surprised by this claim. ‘She knows,’ Indy repeated. ‘She was just here.’ 

Marcus groaned in dismay. ‘The poor girl overheard?’ 

Indy continued, ‘She knew what she was doing, she’s got nerve. Marion will always be able to take care of herself.’ 

There was a long tense silence then, Abner ready to explode. Finally he ground out, ‘Is that supposed to absolve you of responsibility?’ 

‘No. But she’ll be all right.’ 

‘You disgust me,’ Abner Ravenwood cried out. ‘Brody – take him away from here.’ 

‘I’ll talk to Marion,’ Indy said, bending to scoop up the tobacco pouch from the floor. 

‘You will not.’ It was an ultimatum. 

Marcus had him by the elbow, was gently pushing him towards the door. ‘It’s over, Indy,’ he murmured. ‘Let’s go home.’ 

Indy said, ‘She deserves better than this.’ Marion deserved his apology. If they talked it over, if he explained it to her, she’d see this was best for both of them. 

‘Yes, she does deserve better,’ Abner hissed from behind them. 

Marcus said, ‘Come home with me, Indy.’ 

He shrugged off the man’s hand, set his shoulders, straightened his hat. And, with barely a backwards glance at Abner, Indiana Jones walked out, leaving Marcus behind. 

♦

## NEW YORK 1938 

‘A champagne dinner?’ Indy said. ‘Of course I remember.’ 

‘Only because I’m buying.’ 

‘Not at all,’ he retorted. ‘Only because we’re due to discuss my honorarium from the museum for the Cross.’ 

Marcus Brody laughed, absurdly happy. ‘Are you free tonight? I’ll make a reservation at Monet’s.’ 

‘Certainly I’m free. But Monet’s definitely isn’t.’ 

Marcus considered his young friend. ‘Oh, I think that recovering the Cross of Coronado after twenty-six years, and donating it to my museum, was enough of an excuse for the champagne. But then finding the Holy Grail as well… That calls for Moet at Monet’s, don’t you agree?’ 

‘Did you think I was arguing?’ 

That evening Indy seemed strangely serious, watching his friend across the white linen, the champagne apparently only serving to focus his attention, Marcus withstood Indy’s bright gaze as well as he could, talking of whatever came to mind in an effort to subvert the uncomfortable silences. 

The Grail was still too awesome a matter for conversation – the Cross seemed a safer topic. ‘It’s beautiful, priceless. I mean, just add together the cost of the gold and all the incredible jewels – there’s a ruby in it that’s the size of my thumbnail – the total would be staggering. And that’s missing the point, anyway, isn’t it? Over four hundred years old, historically significant, and the design quite unique. Frankly, I don’t know where the museum would be but for you.’ 

Indy smiled, deadpan, uninterested in the compliment. ‘Still on Tenth and Washington, I imagine.’ 

Marcus frowned. He loved Indy’s wry humor, but he didn’t like the fact that Indy often used it to deflect anything approaching the personal. ‘The thrill of the chase – is that what you do it for?’ he accused. ‘A lifetime of chasing after the Cross of Coronado, only to hand it over to me and head off on the next adventure.’ 

‘I trust you to take care of it.’ 

‘That’s not an answer.’ 

‘You know the answer, Marcus.’ Indy sighed and, as if tired of repeating the justification, said, ‘It belongs in a museum, it belongs to the people, it’s part of our history. It didn’t belong in the private collection of some man who has respect for nothing but money.’ 

‘Yes.’ Marcus smiled sheepishly in apology. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t doubt you.’ 

‘I know.’ But Indy obviously had something else on his mind. Over the soup, he said, ‘You’ve been lonely. I’ve taken all your friend’s attention lately.’ 

Marcus easily shrugged this off. ‘If you and Henry can finally take the time to get to know each other, then I am the last person to complain. But you’re right – I’ve missed my two closest friends lately. At least when you were ignoring each other, I could monopolize you both.’ 

‘So now we ignore you instead.’ 

‘No, no,’ Marcus demurred. 

‘It’s this hare-brained scheme of his –’ 

‘No, it isn’t. The project is an excuse to work with you, and you know it.’ 

Indiana Jones smiled. ‘You have us pretty well figured out.’ 

Marcus Brody fixed his sharp gaze on the younger man. ‘If that’s so, then you might agree with me at last that Henry dearly loves his son. He wanted the _world_ for you, Indy, and you took it. He’s proud that you’re as strong as he is.’ He added with a laugh, ‘And as stubborn.’ 

‘ _Persistent_ , Marcus,’ Indy corrected. ‘And I had to be, to stand up to him. Though I thought he was trying to browbeat that out of me.’ 

‘Not at all. You just gave the reason for it.’ 

‘Don’t try and excuse him! He put me through hell, and there are plenty of other ways of –’ Indy grimaced at the euphemism – ‘character building. Remember that night I came _this_ close to kissing Beth Parrish…’ 

Marcus’s look of surprise dissolved into confusion and then a profound discomfort. ‘He always had a reason,’ the older man said in a weak attempt to return to the original topic of conversation. 

‘And I had a reason to choose that particular example. You remember my first kiss, don’t you?’ 

‘Well, it was a terrible thing for Henry to do to you,’ Marcus offered. ‘Treating you like that in front of the girl.’ 

But the demurrals were useless. They always were when Indiana Jones had his mind set on something. ‘It’s no good pretending I don’t remember,’ Indy said, voice low and intense. ‘Why do you think I never talked to you about Beth or any of the rest of it?’ 

‘Dear Lord,’ Marcus murmured in a vain prayer. ‘I was glad that you didn’t, of course, so glad, and I could only assume you never even realized –’ He swallowed uncomfortably, then started again, words spilling in haste: ‘I’m sorry, Indy, so sorry for it. I took advantage of the situation, it was unforgivable. I don’t know why Henry ever trusted me with you at all –’ 

Indy frowned. ‘He knew – what?’ 

‘I’d been more than a little in love with him, you see, back in our university days in England. Not that you want to know about all that. And then he met your mother, of course. But later he saw right through me, how I felt for you. He guessed something of what happened in Utah, though I never thought you did.’ 

‘And what did you feel for me?’ Indy insisted. 

‘I was very much in love with you,’ Marcus whispered, his gaze never faltering from Indy’s. ‘From that night on – Though the possibility of it was there from the beginning, I suppose. I’m afraid I run in the family.’ And then he regretted his boldness. Indy surely didn’t want to be bothered with all this ancient history, this sad old-fashioned tale of love. ‘Forgive me. I don’t know how I had the nerve to presume on your friendship.’ 

‘It’s no presumption,’ Indiana told him, a little impatient. ‘For that matter, you hardly _took advantage_.’ 

Marcus found to his chagrin that there were tears in his eyes. He tried to surreptitiously wipe them away with his napkin, but he had always been a little clumsy, a little awkward. 

‘My only regret is that you didn’t take me to _your_ bed that night.’ 

‘Indiana!’ 

‘It’s true.’ Indy leant forward, intensity focused on the older man, so that Marcus felt there was no one else in the whole world. ‘That next afternoon, when I came around, I was all set to seduce you. Didn’t you ever figure that one out?’ 

‘No… I can’t believe it.’ 

‘But I realized just in time that it would have been cruel of me.’ Indy handed Marcus his handkerchief, then sat back in his chair again, and shrugged. ‘Life is full of regrets.’ 

Marcus managed a weak smile. ‘I can hardly regret that Henry never had cause to tum his full wrath on me.’ 

Indy returned the smile, eyes glowing with mischief. But all he said was, ‘Your soup’s getting cold, Marcus.’ 

♦

‘Can’t I come in? I could do with a coffee before I drive home.’ 

‘Emotional blackmail _and_ that dreadful lost puppy expression,’ Marcus observed dispassionately. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’ 

‘I am.’ 

Marcus turned away to hide his grin and unlock the door. ‘All right, all right,’ he grudgingly agreed, and Indy followed him inside. 

Now that the truth was between them, Marcus felt as light-hearted as a child. He had always found secrets to be an unbearable and confusing burden. Perhaps that was one reason why he had followed the outspoken Henry to America and left the restraint of England behind. A reason, yes, but not the main one. 

He pottered around alone in the kitchen, brewing a pot of coffee, finding a presentable tray, and dusting off his best cups. Then he searched out the chocolate biscuits he’d hidden from himself at the back of the icebox – some matters, like sensible diets, were often made easier by being an absentminded museum director. 

As Marcus brought the loaded tray out to the lounge room, Indy muttered something about finally unearthing buried treasure, and put a record on the player. Marcus hummed along for a moment, and then almost dropped the tray. 

Indy grabbed it out of his nerveless hands and placed it on the coffee table. ‘Sit down, Marcus.’ 

He let himself be pushed to the sofa. ‘The Mozart… You really do remember, don’t you?’ 

‘The whisky didn’t wipe out those particular brain cells.’ 

Indiana sat close to him, close enough that their knees brushed together. Marcus felt the jolt of something half-forgotten. While the younger man seemed sardonic, Marcus could only recall the guilty elation, the delicious fright of that kiss. Was it really twenty-three years ago? 

‘That was fine champagne you bought me, Marcus. Even finer than Dad’s whisky. But no drunken stupors tonight, I won’t fall fast asleep this time.’ 

‘What?’ 

‘I’m not being obvious enough?’ 

‘You’re a few steps ahead of me, Indy.’ 

‘Then run a little to catch up, Marcus, we’ve both waited long enough. This is going to be good, very good.’ 

Marcus frowned. ‘I don’t understand…’ 

And Indiana seemed to take pity on him. He lifted a hand to caress Marcus’s cheek. ‘Dad named you Percival, the holy innocent.’ 

Which appeared to be safer ground. ‘And you were Galahad, of course; the valiant knight.’ 

Indy smiled suddenly. ‘And he was Lancelot. How appropriate – it was Galahad who succeeded where his father failed.’ 

Which proved to be quicksand. ‘He was talking of the Grail.’ 

‘And I’m talking of you, Marcus.’ 

‘Is that so? Exactly what are you after, Indiana?’

‘Another kiss. And this time, perhaps, you _will_ take me to your bed.’ A lift of the eyebrows, and that smile he was renowned for… The younger Professor Jones had quite a reputation around campus for inappropriate liaisons, a reputation that Marcus knew was well-earned. Perhaps it was vanity to think that he alone could turn Indy aside from a goal. 

‘I’m an old man now, Indy. Stop fooling around.’ 

Impatient again. ‘I’m not fooling. As for old – I’m thirty-eight, and you’re sixty. Marcus, we’re in the prime of our lives. Let’s make the most of it.’ 

‘You are, as ever, full of flattery.’ 

‘It’s the truth, Marcus. The truth! Age doesn’t matter – time is elastic.’ 

‘Ah, that’s the archaeologist speaking. No wonder you’re interested in this antiquity of a body.’ 

‘Now who’s fooling?’ Indy demanded. And he leant in and kissed Marcus on the lips, with an odd combination of gentle hesitation and runaway passion. 

Marcus’s hands wavered, then pushed Indy away. ‘Please don’t do this.’ 

And, surprisingly, Indy withdrew a little. He said, ‘I was stupid enough to assume you still wanted me.’ 

‘Well, of course I do! But it’s too late.’ 

‘It’s not even midnight.’ 

‘Don’t give me your obtuse act, Indiana – it’s too late for _me_. I’m an old man now. Have some mercy, for God’s sake, leave me with a shred of dignity.’ When the younger man remained silent, Marcus continued, ‘You want all the banal details? I’ve had sex once in the last ten years, Indy. Which is no doubt one hundredth – one thousandth! – the number of women you’ve had in the same time. And I’m hardly what you’d call attractive, not anymore, if I ever was.’ 

Indiana almost growled in annoyance. ‘Of course you’re attractive, Marcus… You can’t tell me you don’t realize that!’ 

‘And if I take this preposterous idea seriously, and have my wicked way with you, what then? You’ll have got what you wanted, and you’ll chase off after the next pretty thing who bats her eyes at you. What am I left with?’ 

‘You’ll have had something you’ve wanted for years.’ 

‘We’re not all quite that goal-oriented, Indy, we can’t all be that ruthless. I can’t set an act of sex in my sights, and pretend nothing else matters. Pretend that our friendship doesn’t matter.’ 

‘This isn’t just about sex – I want to _be_ with you, Marcus. It was so damned difficult to let you go, back in Utah. Sure, the whole thing receded, and I slept around, and there was Marion – but I want to be with you now.’ Again, that famous smile. The one that lit up his eyes with a delightful mischief, though tonight Marcus thought he could spy a small but desperate need behind it. ‘Lord, if all we do is kiss, then that’s fine.’ 

Which was an impassioned prayer Marcus would love to be answered. But these matters weren’t that easy. 

It seemed to Marcus that Indiana had never had to learn the art of seduction, or even had to be more than inept socially – women simply threw themselves in his path, and he took advantage of them as and when he felt like it, with little regard to morals or sense or even convenience. And then he tired of them, and his attention would shift elsewhere, the absentminded professor would simply turn away. The sensible ones, like Marion Ravenwood a year ago, left of their own accord. The others hung about, needlessly hurt. 

On the surface, Marcus supposed that his own few brief liaisons with men might appear to be as callous as Indiana’s with women. The difference was that Marcus had always taken great care to be as scrupulously considerate a lover as he could be, given that his heart had been inadvertently caught up elsewhere. All of Indy’s discards, his self-absorption, and his constant revolt against Henry: all that proved the difference. 

Marcus asked gently, ‘Why did Marion leave you, Indy?’ 

‘I don’t know.’ The younger man shrugged this off, but Marcus’s expectant silence forced him to add, ‘All right, I do know. She deserved better. She deserved someone who’d give her a higher priority.’ And then: ‘She was… too valuable to just add to my collection.’ 

_Good_. ‘I’m not asking for a commitment from you, Indy – God knows I’m not up to taking you on as a lover – but I need some of that same consideration.’ 

‘Consideration? I let you go before because you would have just been part of the war between me and Dad, but that’s over now. I’m free of all that – so I can come to you, and be what you wanted of me. Isn’t that consideration?’ 

‘But you and Henry are still my closest friends…’ 

‘He doesn’t come into this,’ Indy insisted – ‘this is you and me now.’ 

Marcus looked at him for a moment, and realized the truth. ‘It is, isn’t it?’ he murmured. ‘I fell in love with you that night –’ _when you first began to grow out from under him_. 

‘And all these years since…’ 

‘What about them?’ Marcus prompted. _You started to grow, but you fell into the childish, thoughtless reactions again_. 

Indiana laughed, wry. ‘It makes this difficult, not easier. I thought –’

‘That I’d fall into your arms, grateful for a kiss at last? You thought that my years of loneliness would make it inevitable?’ 

‘I suppose so,’ Indy admitted. 

The man, the adventurer, the philanderer looked honestly humble for the first time that Marcus could recall. It was a thoroughly disarming sight – the boy in Indy was at peace for once, and the man in him seemed more and more complete. 

_And now that you’ve grown again, now that you’ve caught up with things you should have learned years ago, the things you’d started to know in Utah_ – ‘But it is inevitable, of course,’ Marcus said, amused, full of anticipation. He leant in, and met Indy’s mouth with his own. 

For a moment there was no response, but then Indiana’s arms lifted around him, and the younger man was returning the kiss with a touching enthusiasm. Marcus almost chuckled. The angel bestowing this long-prayed-for blessing was a particularly earthy one. 

♦

‘Indiana. I don’t mean to talk in clichés, but this is… just for tonight, isn’t it?’ 

There was a small sound of protest from the younger man, who was rather less than half awake, and Marcus felt Indy’s arms tighten around him for a moment. ‘What’s tomorrow – Saturday?’ asked a sleep-blurred voice. 

Marcus cast an amused glance at the window. The first grey light of dawn was outlining the curtains. ‘ _Today_ is Saturday.’ 

‘Then we’ve got all weekend, haven’t we.’ 

It was a statement, not a question. Marcus smiled, wry but happy. ‘You’ve missed two weeks out of three this semester, yet you’re wasting the weekend on me.’ 

‘So…’ Indy mumbled into Marcus’s shoulder. ‘The lectures are prepared, as much as they ever are. Maybe I’ll give you a half-hour break tomorrow afternoon, and you can write some new tutorial questions for me.’ 

Marcus chuckled. ‘The way you treat me,’ he complained – though he sounded more bemused than offended. ‘You’re as ruthless as your father.’ 

‘Ruthless?’ A thoughtful pause, which Indy filled by pressing a kiss into Marcus’s collarbone. Then Indy said, ‘I bet the old bastard never gave you an inch, did he?’ 

‘No.’ Marcus added firmly, ‘And I never expected or asked for it.’ 

‘You didn’t ask it from me, either.’ The mischievous tone was back. 

‘Yes, we’ve got all weekend,’ Marcus agreed at last. ‘And then…’ 

‘And then there might be other weekends,’ Indy offered. But the silence stretched, until he finally prompted, ‘What?’ 

‘There won’t be any other weekends, my friend. I think, instead, you should call on Marion.’ 

‘What!’ Indiana Jones pushed up a little, tried to read the older man’s expression in the dim light. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ 

‘You loved her,’ Marcus said mildly. ‘And she loved you.’ 

‘And she never wanted to see me again. This time she actually meant it.’ 

‘Over the last couple of weeks… you’ve changed, Indiana. I think Marion will be interested in discovering that for herself.’ 

‘You mean I’ve grown up,’ Indy said flatly. ‘Don’t you?’ 

‘Not that I would put it that way to you…’ 

‘But you think that’s what she wants.’ 

‘I believe it might be worth your while to try.’ 

After a moment, Indy shook his head and chuckled. ‘Just what I always suspected: Marcus, you’re a hopeless romantic. I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.’ 

‘Insulted?’ 

‘Yeah – you could at least do me the honor of trying to claim me for yourself.’ 

‘Marion is a wonderful woman, Indy. You could be a power of good for each other. And if I ever had any claim on you, I would have let you seduce me back in Utah.’ 

‘Of course you’ve got a claim on me, you old fool,’ Indy murmured. ‘Let’s do each other some good right now.’ 

Marcus tried to avoid the kiss, but the younger man was too insistent to be refused. ‘You’ll call on her?’ Marcus asked when he could. 

‘Hey.’ Indiana paused to consider this most loyal of friends. ‘You know you always could talk me into anything you had a mind to, anything you thought was important. But right now, I have other priorities. So why don’t you be a little selfish for once, and let me meet them?’ 

‘Yes, why don’t I?’ Marcus whispered. The potential he had seen in the fifteen-year-old Indy had been met, and was now surpassed. The man in his arms was abruptly overwhelming. 

‘I love you, Marcus.’ 

‘Dear Lord, Indy, I love you, too.’ 

♦

## NEW YORK 1943 

‘You can’t possibly call the poor child Henry the Third!’ Indiana was protesting. ‘Everyone will think he’s the King of England.’

Marion just grinned, her wide green eyes bright. For a woman who’d been in labor not twenty-four hours before, she looked amazing, sitting up cross-legged on the hospital bed. Marcus wondered yet again how she managed. Three children – four, if you counted Indy – and an Anthropology degree, all within six years, invited to do honors next semester, and she’d made it look easy. Apart from which, she seemed to grow more beautiful with each passing day despite, or perhaps because of, the charming spread of freckles. 

‘I promised your father,’ she was telling Indy now. ‘It means a lot to the old man.’ 

‘But what a start in life,’ Indiana complained, wandering over to where Marcus sat with the new baby in his arms. ‘Just another chip off the old Jones block, eh?’ 

‘You turned out all right,’ Marion reminded him, with her usual back-handed generosity. 

‘I scraped through,’ Indy muttered darkly. ‘With a lot of help.’ But he glanced at Marcus, and winked. 

‘So Marcus can help bring little Henry up, too,’ Marion said, deadpan. 

Silence for a few moments, while Marcus tried not to laugh in surprise. If he looked at Indy now – or Marion for that matter, who seemed to have the whole history figured out – he would lose the very last shreds of his dignity. It didn’t help that Marion began giggling. Indy let out a guffaw, and then explained it away to Marcus: ‘She hasn’t been the same since they gave her that funny gas yesterday.’ 

The situation was saved by the two girls running in, with Henry Senior tagging along behind. ‘Look what Grandad buy me!’ Eve, the eldest, exclaimed, waving a picture book. 

‘ _Bought_ me,’ Marcus automatically corrected, with little hope of being heard over the kerfuffle. 

Nevertheless, the girl frowned in concentration and repeated, ‘What Grandad bought me.’ She and Marcus shared a smile. 

‘ _King Arthur and the Holy Grail_. Why does that surprise me?’ Indy asked. 

Henry replied firmly, ‘The children have a right to know what their father achieved.’ 

‘Hello, Henry,’ Marion said fondly. He planted a gallant kiss in her hair. 

‘Horse!’ That was Fayah, the younger girl. She brought the book over to Marcus to show him the picture of a knight on his charger. 

‘Horse,’ he agreed. ‘And this is a…?’ 

‘Tree!’ 

‘Sure,’ Indy was continuing with heavy sarcasm – ‘they’re going to believe the old legends are all true, they’re going to think it’s not just Grandad’s bedtime stories.’ 

‘Why shouldn’t they believe me?’ Henry Senior also came over to Marcus. ‘How’s little Henry today?’ 

‘You’re not seriously going to call him that,’ Indy pleaded. 

‘It’s better than following the other family tradition of naming him after the dog,’ Marion said. 

‘I don’t know…’ Indiana returned defensively. ‘Scruffy isn’t so bad.’ 

There were groans and laughter around the room. Bedlam, as usual in the Jones family. Even the world war couldn’t mar the joy these people had each waited decades for. Marcus smiled, happy to simply be a part of it all. 

Indy wandered over, gathered Fayah up onto his shoulder, patted the newest child. ‘It’s two against one here, Marcus. Help me out, will you?’ 

‘You could call the baby Henry Abner,’ Marcus suggested. 

Everyone turned to look at Indy – except Fayah, who’d propped the book open against her father’s head and seemed more interested in working out what a dragon was. Indy gave in with as good a grace as he could muster. ‘All right, all right, I know when I’m beat. They call that emotional blackmail, you know.’ 

‘It’s all in a good cause.’ Marion was smiling. ‘Henry Abner Jones. I like that.’ 

‘So do I,’ said Henry Senior. ‘And so, I imagine, would Ravenwood.’ 

‘Yeah, well,’ Indy muttered under his breath to Marcus. ‘Just don’t blame me if the kid’s nickname ends up being Scruffy.’ 

But Marcus would know exactly who to blame. He smiled at Indy, as happy as he’d ever been, and thought, _Very much in love with you_. 

Indy, as always, was safely oblivious.

♦


End file.
